


Send NEWTs (Drabble Collection)

by SyrenGrey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Consensual Kink, Dirty Talk, Drabble Collection, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Kinky, Mutual Pining, One Shot, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Praise Kink, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Spanking, Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23900785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyrenGrey/pseuds/SyrenGrey
Summary: My collection of Drabbles and Ficlets.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/ Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 38
Kudos: 184
Collections: Frumpologist Flash Fiction Comp April 2020





	1. Send NEWTs (Hermione & Theo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUMMARY:  
> Gods, don’t ask me how I got here. It was hard enough to explain to Theo.
> 
> “So if I understand correctly, a _ritual_ banished you from your home and sent you here.”
> 
> He handed me a glass of cognac to soothe my quaking as I tried to recover from the ritual that, yes, did all those things. Not to mention summoned lightning, which was not mentioned anywhere in my book, _Ye Olde Rituals_.
> 
> “All this to procure early NEWT results?”
> 
> \-------  
> Written for a Flash Fiction Challenge on the Dumbledore's Armada Discord Server. My randomly generated prompt was: Hermione gets locked out of their house while their family is gone, so they spend the night at Theo's place.  
> \-------  
> Thank you SO much to my alpha/beta [GeekieBeekie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekiebeekie/pseuds/geekiebeekie).  
> \-------

Hermione’s Diary

15th June 1999

Gods, don’t ask me how I got here.

It was hard enough to explain to Theo. You should have seen his face: brows knit and contemplation brewing like he was memorizing Ancient Runes.

“If I understand correctly, a _ritual_ banished you from your home and sent you here - to Nott Manor.”

He handed me a glass of cognac to soothe my quaking as I tried to recover from the ritual that, yes, did all those things. Not to mention summoned _lightning_ , which was not mentioned anywhere in my book, _Ye Olde Rituals_.

“All this to procure early NEWT results?”

“They expect us to wait _two months_ , Theo! We could be completing work applications in that time. It’s archaic!”

He – bookish, complicated, ambitious Theo – should’ve understood more than anyone; he was surely anticipating more than a few NEWTs of his own.

“And why didn’t you turn back once you Apparated here?”

Theo’s jade eyes washed over me. His gaze was patient, without pressure for a response, with ample time for me to read between the lines of what he was genuinely asking. I too wondered why the ritual brought me here. Perhaps _he_ had my NEWT results? I could have laughed at the thought – still, I _did_ ring the doorbell.

Theo slipped off his cardigan – the sexy academic type that’s grey wool with brown elbow patches – a mixture of comfort, intellect, and man all wrapped in one. He placed it on my shoulders which were still trembling though I didn’t know why. Gods, it _smelled_ like him.

“How have you been, Granger?”

It was a simple question, yet so loaded with the unspoken:

_How have you been since graduating Hogwarts?_

_Without our quiet stares and shared Alchemical jokes that no one gets but us?_

_Since I asked you, after weeks of flirting, to meet at the astronomy tower and you talked yourself out of it?_

_How have you been - without me?_

I could scarcely breathe as his fingers raked through my curls, lifting each one to rest on the Aran wool. The look he gave me left a burning trail as it lingered on my lips.

“What was the ritual?”

This was a real question – waiting for an actual response.

“Heart’s Desire,” I breathed. Heat filled my cheeks. 

“Heart’s Desire,” he repeated. A warm smile – somehow knowing – formed on his lips as he gazed at me with such tenderness it melted me.

Logic urged that error brought me here. Yet as Theo leaned in and pressed his soft lips into mine, I knew it had worked. As quiet sparks burst in waves throughout me and my chest squeezed, heat and _yearning_ searing my soul, I knew I’d found my heart’s desire.

I’m in his bed now. 

I have so much more to write, but I should get some sleep - it’s taking everything in me not to wake him for a third romp.

Goodnight, diary.

P.s. Still need those NEWTs results. Idea: steal a time turner?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:**  
>  I'm so happy to announce that this drabble won Fan Favorite! Thank you!! <3 
> 
> Please leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed this! It means the world to me!  
> Syren  
> \---  
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://syrengrey.tumblr.com/) and [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/syren.greyy)


	2. Amortentia & Veritaserum (Hermione & Severus)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Slytherin Cabal weekly Drabbles.

Amortentia (Part 1)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pink, lilac, and powder blue swirled together against a shimmering ivory as Hermione peered into the cauldron. Steam rose in spirals, enveloping her senses as she took in a deep inhale. It took everything in her to not sigh at the delectable scent of freshly cut wood, bitter black tea, and musky spices which transported her into a forest, cold and damp.

Yet there was inherent masculinity to the scent, causing her wet tongue to glide over her lips and taste the invisible kiss the potion pressed to her face. 

“Miss Granger,” the drawling voice of Snape rang from behind. She painfully peeled herself away from her station and watched the Potions Master, his nose in the air and dark eyes narrowed into sceptical slits, hover over the freshly brewed batch of Amortensia. 

“Fail,” the word fell slowly off his tongue like molasses. 

“What? Professor, there must be some mista-“

“Don't bore me with your whinging. Had you remembered to add rose thorns, your potion would have passed. This,” he waved his wand, breaking the pristine circling steam as the contents of the cauldron vanished, “is as stale as old books.” 

She stared at the empty cauldron, her eyes stinging with the embarrassment of failure; and yet the scent of her potion lingered so vividly in her senses that she swore it was still there. 

“I added rose thorns…"

Hermione fought to not think of it as the intoxicating smell slowly disappeared with each distant step of the Potions Master.

Veritaserum (Part 2)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I feel so f-foolish!"

"You should,” Snape said, causing another wail to spill from Hermione as tears poured down her cheeks. "You are a grown woman — what idiocy possessed you to drink something given by two giggling girls?"

"I thought they were b-being nice. I thought they were my _friends_."

The tense creases near Snape's eyes softened at her words.

“That should teach you a lesson,” he said quietly. "Unfortunately, there is no cure to Veritaserum, you'll merely have to wait for the effects to pass."

Hermione lifted her head from her hands, her messy fringe framing her warm eyes, strained pink and glimmering with flowing tears.

“Enough blubbering, girl,” he snapped, bristling against the image of her. "What do you want? Tea — water?”

“I want a hug.”

The words spilt out of her, and as Hermione heard them her hand flew to cover her mouth, wishing she could swallow the cursed words and keep them trapped behind her lips forever.

Snape’s eyes met hers, equally horrified.

The world stopped, trapped in the tension between them.

It was the sound of Hermione’s reflexive squeak that broke the silence when, to her surprise, Snape’s palm landed softly on her shoulder. She peered up at Potions Master, all tension from his normally cool features melted into a look of pity and — something _else_.

She didn’t understand, but his touch — that look — caused a flurry of emotion to rise and spill in the form of fresh tears.

Hermione reached for him. Her fingers latched onto his robes and she desperately buried her face into his stiffening form. She sobbed, clutching onto the comforting confines of his warmth and drinking in his scent of fresh wood, bitter tea, and intoxicating spices.


	3. The Gallery (Hermione & Lucius)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Strictly Lumione Visual Prompt Drabble Game, based on the image below.

The Gallery

The gallery of Malfoy Manor had been stirring with restless whispers since her arrival.  
  
It was difficult to justify her fascination with the room, ever-more intriguing under the shroud of night when the shadows swayed, slithering up the walls and stretching with each slow step Hermione took as she swallowed their judgment and supplied her own.  
  
Lucius had done all he could during their first year of marriage to instill a security in her that — in daylight — strengthened her. When he’d kiss her and remind her that he loved her with all he had, she’d find solace in his certainty.  
  
But on dark nights, when she’d slip out of his bed and steal away to the gallery, standing before the rows of painted Malfoys casting their cruel remarks and condemnations— where she'd sense the lei lines of the estate struggling to accept her presence—doubt would creep its ugly head. It was a silver-haired demon, a demeaning beast. It taunted her place in his world, devastated the security he’d built in her. It drew her toward despair where it drowned her night after night.  
  
One evening, when the leaves had turned yellow and dry, and a year of Hermione’s life passed, Lucius brought her to the gallery. He’d slipped his arms around her waist, embraced her before his ancestors, and revealed his gift: a single portrait. A young woman, not silver-haired. Not haughty, nor cruel, nor demeaning. A girl with bushy curls and keen eyes. A lady of heart.  
  
Hermione stood there, staring at her.  
  
She stared back in silence.  
  
Smiled with easy kindness.  
  
And, with seamless ease, she slayed the demon of doubt.


	4. Cruel Fate (Hermione & Lucius)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Strictly Lumione Visual Prompt Drabble Game, based on the image below.

Cruel Fate

Hermione Granger was not one for sentimentality, but this was not how she’d envisioned her wedding.  
  
“Right, let’s get on with it, shall we?” Draco said with a curt nod toward the officiant. “There’s no need to be ceremonious about this.”  
  
She couldn’t agree more. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her stomach had tied into a knot as she stared at her betrothed. Husband-to-be. Ha.  
  
What an abhorrent law.  
  
What a cruel fate.  
  
To force her to marry the man before her when she’d fallen in love with his father.  
  
She averted her gaze, not deigning to look Lucius in the eyes while knowing that it was with Draco she was destined to lay. Still, her heart burned for him. It wouldn’t stop beating for him, wedding or not. Marriage law or no.  
  
The ceremony was, thankfully, swift. The few people who had come to support both sides chatted amongst themselves, allowing Hermione a moment's reprieve from the snide remarks of her now-husband who repeatedly reminded her just how horrendous this arrangement was for him.  
  
“Congratulations,” a voice came from behind her.  
  
It warmed her like the sweet burn of cinnamon. It made her aching heart—for a moment—forget this wicked day, as she turned and lost herself in the pools of grey staring at her, wide-eyed and full of the same sorrow she felt.  
  
“Thank you,” Hermione said with a nod.  
  
It was nothing, an invisible sway of her hand, a single finger extended to reach him and trail her touch over his knuckles, but as his eyes widened and warmth illuminated his features, she knew he understood. It was a silent reminder, a shared moment of certainty that—despite fate or law or duty—she was his. And he needn’t forget that.


	5. Parthenophilia (Hermione & Tom)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Kinks of Knockturn Alley Facebook Group.
> 
> Thank you weestarmeggie for the beta read. <3
> 
>  **THIS DRABBLE IS RATED E.  
> **  
>  The prompt is Parthenophilia - which is a sexual arousal related to things, more specifically people, that are untouched and pure.

"You're almost ready." 

Hermione tried to ignore his words. She _knew_ she was almost ready; she could feel it in the marrow of her bones and in the way her spirit seemed to shift and rise to greet the midnight sky. 

Purple fumes swirled around her and made her head grow heavy. It wasn't enough that the smoke drifted over her bare flesh, which had grown slick with a sheen of nervous sweat, but did it need to electrify her so? The trails of vapour slithered over, blanketing her nude form. She wondered if it was enough to shield her body from his lingering eyes, but she doubted it. She could feel him looking, could sense his hunger even without glancing at him. 

The purple haze surrounded her. It dazed her. She cast her prayers to the dark heavens, begging for the cleansing ritual to work.

The vapour continued to seep into the top layers of her flesh and drifted through her muscles. She felt it fill her lungs, each sharp gasp a result of the chilling and then burning sensation that coated her from the inside out. 

"Oh, Gods—"

"Do you feel it? Purifying you for me?" Tom asked, stepping forward.

The smoke trailed away from him, parting like the Red Sea with each step he took. _He_ wasn't pure. He had no risk of breathing the air she did. He was as tainted as the Devil himself; still, she craved the taste of his sins. 

"Spread your legs," he said, his voice a soft purr to her ears. 

Her legs fell apart and back arched instinctively at his words. Every inch of her felt bare and raw and _starved._

"Are you ready for me? You've been waiting so patiently." 

"Tom," Hermione sighed, her legs parting wider as he fell to his knees.

Gods, she _had_ been waiting for this. 

She'd been held captive by the man who refused to touch her and her "tainted" heart which had once beat for his enemy, Harry Potter. Though she was still untouched in _that_ way, the fact that Harry had ever kissed her, ever let his hands trail over her thighs, was enough to send Tom reeling when he found out. 

Hermione squirmed against him, the smoke trailing away from his face and form. There was no hesitation as his eyes drifted over her, washing over her breasts and abdomen, and further south still. Everything was so bare that she could feel the faintest twitch of his muscles as he knelt between her legs. The fabric of his trousers against her calves felt like sandpaper.

"Oh!" 

She cried out as his touch grazed the inside of her thigh and trailed to her core until the pads of his fingers pushed past her lips. She sucked in a breath as she felt the slightest pressure against her throbbing bundle of nerves that had grown frayed from the buzzing static which lived in her muscles. Ecstasy swept through her, starting where his fingers connected them and burned against her raw skin.

"Please, I need you—"

Hermione bit her lower lip and bucked her hips when she heard the sound of his zipper. 

"Are you pure for me, now, little dove?" 

"Yes—oh!" Her breath caught as he slid over her, " _yes_ , Tom."


	6. Aftercare (Hermione & Severus)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M.
> 
> Written for the Kinks of Knockturn Alley FB Group's Thrilling Thursday Drabbles. The theme of the week is Aftercare.

Hermione's head felt dense as a raincloud. Tears streamed down her cheeks, leaving gleaming wet streaks over her flushed face and trembling lips that continued to shake even after her punishment was over.

Her lungs caught on her breath, struggling against her trembling muscles as the sobs slowly eased and subsided. She could hear the vague clicking of shackles against the bedpost coming undone, and her arms fell heavily on the bed. Her whole body felt like it was simultaneously floating and sinking, leaden and light.

Something warm and heavy touched her face, brushed across the streams of tears that still fell on their own.

Her dazed, pain-and-pleasure soaked mind could hardly comprehend it as arms lifted her up and she felt the cool skin of Severus' chest as he cradled her against him. Coarse scruff grazed between her brows as he held her there, pressing kisses, one after the other. His long fingers swept over her still-naked form, squeezing and kneading the freshly assaulted flesh.

"That's it. That's my girl. Sweet, precious girl," he murmured into her hair and skin.

The voice, his gentle touch, permeated through the daze and slowly soothed her pain with the gentle reminders of his love for her.

"You did well, little dove. I'm so proud."

His words were a soft whisper that patiently poured back the power she'd given him. Small bursts of pride swelled through her. It broke past the raw haze and allowed fresh tears to fall from her face as Severus leaned down and kissed away each one.

After several moments like this, when she could finally sit up on her own and release her first full breath, she heard the sound of a cork pop from a glass vial and Severus guided her head back as he pressed the round mouth of the potion to her lips. She could smell the sweetness of the Strengthening Solution before it reached her tongue. After consuming the whole vial, she fell back into the pillows and curled onto her stomach.

Normally, when Severus' sadism was as inflicted as a means of play, he'd be kind enough to rub relief balm on the welts and tears of her skin. But after a night like this, when it was rage and discipline that had elicited his cruel response, she knew she'd get no relief of the sort.

Perhaps it was better this way, for on nights like this, he'd curl up behind her, his fingers trailing over the sensitive skin that still burned and ached, and would dote on each inch of her skin. He'd kiss her and care for her, and remind her just how precious she was to him, even if she deserved every stroke of his switch.


	7. Send Me Up (Pansy & Tom)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Kinks of Knockturn Alley Thrilling Thursday Drabbles. Prompt: Breath Play.

Call me fucked up. I dare you. 

Tell me there's something awful and wrong about craving something so fucking counter-intuitive that it makes ice trail down my spine just thinking about it. 

Tell me, when Tom's hands are around _your_ throat and he's reminding you just how helpless you are to his whims, that it doesn't get you just a little bit wet. 

Try having to justify wanting the air robbed from your lungs while your lover is sending you towards heaven, one thurst at a time. 

What can I say? He likes the control. 

He loves to know he owns me so much that he can literally squeeze the life out of me until I'm writhing, dripping on his cock, incapable of doing anything other than live for his pleasure—if that's what he wants. 

It's ecstasy. The thrill is like crossing this plane and tasting just a bit of elysian delight while your head is pounding so hard and your cunt is squeezing like every other muscle in your body. And then you gasp, life fills you again, you're back in his arms. You're on cloud fucking nine and Tom Riddle's cum is trailing down your thigh. 

Fuck, it's scary. 

I love it. 


	8. Hunted (Hermione & Severus)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E. For no reason other than my enjoyment.
> 
> Kinks: Primal/Prey. Spanking. Dirty talk. Name calling. Rough handling.

It was difficult to tell whether it was fear that had made Hermione's heart pound, sweat pearl at her temple, and breath grow ragged in anticipation as the room around her stood still. Silent. Tense, with a humid sort of buzz that lifted the hairs of her neck and arms. 

Severus was prowling nearby, she knew it. Seeking her, stalking for her, ready to take her under his hand and give her the well-deserved punishment that she’d so tactically and foolishly evaded. For now. 

“Little girl, where are you?” 

It took everything in her not to make a peep. Not to squeak, despite her whole body growing tight as a bowstring waiting for him. 

A creak that pierced her ears shot a bolt of anxiety up her. She could see the shine of his black boot as his weight pressed into the hardwood floor of the kitchen and with each step, he grew closer. What a foolish place to hide, under the nook, almost in plain sight if he just chose to dip his head even half a foot down. Severus would find her curled up, a sitting duck, waiting to be taken and conquered and broken into submission. 

“I know you’re here, sweet girl, just come out. I promise I won’t hurt you.” 

Lies. What a fucking lie. She knew it more than anyone; the sweeter his tone, the crueller his hand. 

Her ears rang as she saw his foot turn on its ball as he turned to the other side, away from her. This was her chance. Her only opportunity to make a run for it. 

In an instant, she sprang up out of her hiding place and made a run for the doorway. 

The wind escaped her lungs when, in her last chance of successful evasion, a hand gripped her elbow, yanked her backwards, and she fell into something hard, expansive, warm. Another hand held her arm, squeezed until she could feel the bruises forming. He looked down at her, sneer blatant on his lips as he shook his head.

“If you’re going to run away from me, at least don’t be lazy about it,” he said, his lips curling in a wicked grin as one hand crept into her hair, gripped and forced her down against the table she’d been hiding under. 

She felt her skirt get flung over her hips, baring her arse that was just covered in thin cotton knickers. She cried out as the fabric was yanked up, taut against her cunt, snug between her cheeks, and a heavy hand landed with a heavy  _ thwack _ on the tender flesh of her bottom. 

“You wanted this, slut? You wanted to be spanked; you wouldn’t have been such a stupid little brat if you didn’t. Say it.” 

She bit her tongue for a brief moment before an instinctive yelp passed her involuntary lips when another hard spank landed square on the spot under her cheeks, making her whole body tense against her dominant, her owner, her Severus. 

“Say it,” he growled. 

“Yes, Sir, I w-wanted it,” she said, her words shaking as yet another hard strike landed on her pinkening skin. 

“You only made your life harder,” he said with a scoff. 

Her knuckles grew white as she held on the edges of the table, her spine straightening when her knickers were tugged down with a harsh yank that burned as her warmed, red arse was bared. 

“You’re wet. Already. Look at this mess on your knickers.” 

“I’m sorry!” 

“Sorry.” Two fingers entered her, giving her a taste of the relief she craved before they withdrew, making her emptiness known as the fingers appeared in front of her. She could smell herself — smell the tangy scent of arousal on his glistening fingers as he held it in front of her nose. “You will be sorry, little slut. Open your mouth.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---  
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://syrengrey.tumblr.com/) and [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/syren.greyy)


	9. Tamed (Hermione & Lucius)

He says he wants to own me. 

It's funny; I've dealt with men and their fanciful fantasies of carnal delight. They think they can tame me. Take my wild spirit and break me to their whims. Crack my shell and let whatever brilliance that inhabits within pour out for them. For THEM. As if they know how to handle such a creature. 

I'm no mare. I'm neither broken nor domestic. I am wild and untamed. Tempestuous like the clouds that shift and move over the earth, fleeting and full of wonder.

Mere boys think they can handle me. Handle my thoughts and needs, handle my neuroses that keep me up at night eating me alive with the desire to succeed and burn for a meaningful existence. 

Yet, 

When _he_ says it. 

When his hand wraps around my throat and his lips meet mine, and his clear crystalline eyes stare at me -- through me -- into my core as if everything else has dissipated and all he can see is my soul, somehow I believe him. 

Own me. 

Let him try. Somehow, for some reason, I fear he may be the only one capable and...

worthy. 


	10. Little Star (Hermione & Lucius)

He'd stay up at night whispering. 

When stars had trailed up the sky and the moon illuminated the Earth, Lucius remained awake, the tips of his fingers trailing over Hermione's back in soothing little circles. Patterns that he'd memorized and drawn on her flesh countless times as she lay asleep -- no, pretending to be asleep, for this was her favourite part of the entire day. 

"My sweet little dove," he'd coo as she'd suck a deep, long breath, mimicking sleep, "I may have won you, but you won my heart." 

To throw him off, Hermione would suck in a hefty breath and release, her whole body melting into the mattress as Lucius would still for a brief moment as though afraid not to stir her. And then he'd start again, with his quiet little love letters to her, spoken in the night on deaf ears -- or so he thought. 

His sweet little dove. Though he'd won her, bought her under the oppressive market of muggle slavery, she knew he was the one in shackles. His heart was in a vice for her, tied neatly in a bow and laid at her feet. 

"Mmm," she murred as she turned over. Lucius pressed his head against the pillow and stilled as Hermione reached over, feigning the ignorance of slumber as her arm draped over his waist and she curled into him. His body stiffened against her before he let out a quiet breath and his own arm rose to cradle her against him. What an unusual affair -- what an odd fate -- to find your soulmate at a slave auction.

Hermione tried not to think of it. As cruel as the world had been to her kind, as Lucius' hand trailed over her spine and settled in her hair, and as his kind whispers filled her ears, it was not her place to judge how fate brought love together, for she was fortunate to have found it in him. 


	11. brat. (no pairing, self-reflection)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't written with a HP pairing in mind. It's more my thoughts and musings that I wanted to put somewhere, and it's a length that suits this collection, so there you go. ;D

The coupling of cruel and kind is compelling.

It's so blatant and pervasive in my need within relationships. It's so embarrassingly obvious when I—from my waking moment—yearn to be tossed over a man's knee and spanked my demons away, one heavy-handed stroke at a time.

Of course, my silly little hand is held tightly against my back lest I attempt to cover the mean assault on my cheeks. How dare I even try.

I ache to be scolded for disappointing the man whose approval and affection I yearn for.

I burn to be hurt to the point of whimpers, yelps, cries, screams, and sobs.

I seek to be reminded of who is in charge, what happens when I challenge, how I should behave.

(I won't listen; I like this too much)

It's an interesting feeling, the craving for tears, the desire to writhe and beg for mercy with my face flushed red and gleaming with fallen teardrops. To be disciplined until my throat is dry from the helpless sounds I'm forced to make, mixed with the strokes of my punishment which meld together into a sweet symphony of sound.

And then—after it all—when I have repented. when I have pleaded. when I have made myself small in the midst of my punishment, I am reminded that he does this for my own good.

I am kissed and soothed and adored.

I am brought to his arms as he comforts me, brings me to ecstasy when it's over, tells me I'm his. I'm loved. I'm cherished. I'm safe...

until I misbehave again

(I will; I crave this too much)


	12. ascending/descending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not fandom based, but if you'd like it to be it can be Hermione writing to Lucius.

  
Strip me down.

Bare me before your eyes as you pick just what you want to adorn my body which belongs to you. Pick what lingerie you’d like to hug the curves you’ve tasted with your tongue. Choose the polish you’d like coloring my fingers which adoringly caress you.

Pick the rouge to paint my plump lips which you know will be smiling at you as we go out, youthful and carefree, exploring the splendor and beauty of the world.

Take me to see art, listen to poetry, watch theater, cry to opera. Discuss philosophy and history with me. Feed my brain with your wisdom, and let me do the same.

Ascend me to heaven, where the Greats reside.

Fill my mind with thoughts and wonder.

Sit in awe with me.

And then,

after we’ve had our fill of the world outside,

bring me home.

Strip me down.

Bare me before your eyes, and take all of that culture and beauty and art and leave it at the door.

Remind me that I do not belong to the world,

I belong to you.

Tear off that expensive lingerie, grip my curves with your possessive hands, intertwine my polished fingers behind my back, and bring me from the ethereal skies down to the underworld where we can indulge in sin.

Hurt me, and let me make music for you with my whimpers and cries.

Slap me, and let me make art for you with my pouts and winces.

Fuck me, and bring me to our own private ecstasy that rivals heaven itself.

Smear the beauty off my face and break me down to the perfect little whore you want me to be, for your eyes alone, in the silent night, 

and remind me 

that I do not belong to the world.

I belong to you. 


	13. cherries. (Hermione x Lucius x Pansy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione x Lucius x Pansy, from Hermione's POV.

She's like sweet, summer cherries against my lips. Perhaps it's the way her mouth tastes or the perfume that wafts from her hair. In my hands, she's soft and warm.

I cherish her: the way her head tilts back as my kisses trail down her throat. The way her knees spread just a little as my hand traces lines on her hips. The way her lips match the blushing peaks of her breasts. She is open, giving herself to me as I devour her one love bite at a time.

It's almost enough to ignite me. Heat dwells in my bones, but it wasn't sparked by Pansy.

Though she is fuel to my flames,

you lit me.

Your silver eyes that linger on us, the silent strokes of your hand as you watch me— _yours_ —touch another. You ease the tension of your loins as your hungry eyes remain on me, unwavering. You watch me command another the way you've commanded me. You see me touch her, claim her, consume her.

You love the way I dote on her, the novelty of me pouring my attention on another.

She is sweet. She mewls a delicate sound, like music made for me.

But my sounds, only you will hear.

Her taste may linger on my tongue when she's gone, but when the sun breaks in the sky and the sweat dries on our brows, it's at your feet I will lay my head.

**Author's Note:**

> \---  
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://syrengrey.tumblr.com/) and [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/syren.greyy)


End file.
